Always, forever impossible
by little miss dracula
Summary: Clara Oswald has been acting strangely. The Doctor goes on a mission to try and cheer her up, but the reason for her sadness surprises him. Rated K mainly because I'm paranoid :) Please R R
1. Chapter 1

**I've been really low on plot bunnies lately :( But this one popped into my head not so long ago, and I've really missed writing! Anyway, as always - Hope you enjoy :) It's a little drabble-y at the moment, but it's hopefully a bit of fun. Next chapter up soon :) Reviews always welcome, as is concrit :)**

**For now, Reader, **

**L_M_D**

For weeks, Clara Oswald had been… off.

Even the Doctor had noticed, and he was beginning to run out of ideas. He'd taken her skating on a planet made of ice the colour of cotton candy; to the ultimate pleasure planet near Tamagaaria; to a fair ground on 71st century Earth. He'd taken her to a planet entirely dedicated to the British institution of the Cup of Tea; to Japan in the late nineteenth-century to drink sake and watch _The Dances of the Old Capital_. He'd even used the ace card – a planet whose sole inhabitants were puppies.

(No one was quite sure how the puppies had got there, how they survived, or why they didn't age. The Doctor had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with future him).

Clara had been pleased, charmed even, with these interstellar trips; she had 'ahhhd' adequately over the puppies and shouted excitedly in the fair ground. But each of them only seemed to serve as a temporary distraction.

Once back in the TARDIS, after a brief period of happiness from whichever planet they'd been to, she'd bite her thumb nail and skulk off to her room, leaving the Doctor in the console room, face hunched in confusion.

So the Doctor did what he always did when there was 'trouble with the ladies'.

He phoned Jack.

Who gave him the same advice he always did.

"Dinner, Doctor. And candles. And order champagne this time, for Gallifrey's sake."

And, for the first time in his very, very long life, proving his ultimate desperation, the Doctor did what he was told.

He made his way to Clara's room, practising in his head how he would make the offer of dinner in 1920s New York. He pictured her clapping her hands with delight, her depression broken, perhaps hugging him, his hands slipping around her slender frame…

But when he got there, she barely looked up from the book she was reading.

"Sure, sounds good, Doctor. I'm getting pretty hungry."

She met him, as specified, ten minutes later, looking, as the Doctor thought to himself, awfully pretty in a black asymmetrical 1920s dress and considerably cheerier than she had been before. Her hair was slung back in an easy chignon, and, with the addition of a smile, looked more beautiful than anything the Doctor had ever seen.

But then, he reasoned to himself, he thought that every time he saw her.


	2. Chapter 2

**This took a little longer than I'd have liked to get up, so sorry for that. Also, it's pretty short, but I wanted it to end on the note it does xD**

**Thank you to the lovely, lovely people who read, favourited, followed and reviewed the first chapter :D **

**Again, please let me know your thoughts :D**

**Enjoy, Reader,**

**L_M_D**

The dinner was excellent, and the Doctor had clearly used an important name on his psychic paper, judging from the way the waiting staff fawned over him and Clara. The conversation between him and his beautiful, impossible girl flowed naturally, just as it always had.

Over a wonderfully indulgent chocolate dessert that they were sharing, forks clinking in their haste to eat more, a lull appeared quite naturally in the conversation. Suspecting that this was the optimum time to ask Clara what was wrong, if he'd done anything wrong, the Doctor began to speak.

"Clara…" he began quite well, with none of the squeaking noises he usually made when he spoke to her. But then she looked up at him, her eyes creased in a smile as she snuck another forkful of chocolate.

The silence dragged on long enough for Clara to take a sip of champagne, take another forkful of chocolate, and sit back, full. Eventually she tired of waiting and asked him what he wanted.

Nothing, he replied.

"I just wanted to say… you look beautiful."

Clara's face split into another wide grin.

"You know, Chin Boy… that was almost smooth."

They laughed for a moment, the Doctor barely covering up the knot in his stomach. Because she did look beautiful, more beautiful than the twin suns of Gallifrey, but something was wrong. She was his impossible Clara, and he needed to make her happy again.

Also, the Doctor realised, he had just told her that he found her beautiful. And he didn't say things like that. As they collected their belongings and began a slow walk back to the TARDIS, his mind began to race at the possible stupidity of his declaration.

But, once back in the TARDIS, Clara's happiness did not disappear like it usually did. She was more upbeat than she had been for weeks now, and, as she kicked off her heels and suggested they watched an episode or two of _Dexter_ before calling it a night, she was almost back to the Clara he knew and (though he'd never admit it) loved.

And she stayed happy, all night. She even hugged him as she said goodnight, then walked away very, very quickly. The Doctor had stood happily grinning; his face still flushed bright red, like it always did when she was close to him.

The Doctor spent that night tinkering idly with the TARDIS, happily humming to himself, thinking about where he'd take Clara next.

Where, after weeks of seeing the most amazing things in the Universe, could he possibly take her?

Where would he want to go?

But there was only ever one answer to that question. Where, after seeing the whole Universe, did the Doctor want to go?

Home.

It was always home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again its a bit short, sorry xD There aren't going to be too many more chapters in this little ficlet, mabye just one or two more after this one :( But I'm sure the other bunnies will be back soon enough xD **

**Happy reader, Whouffle lovers :D**

**L_M_D**

The next morning, Clara slinked into the control room, the echo of last night's smile still etched on her face. The Doctor was leaning on the edge of the TARDIS doorframe, so Clara bounded out of the door, eager to see the delights in store for her today.

She pulled up short when she saw the familiar façade of the Maitland's house.

She turned abruptly to face the Doctor, a stream of emotions crossing her face.

She couldn't deny that she had been missing Angie and Artie, who were even now running out of the house to greet Clara and her 'boyfriend'. But this was sudden, he was just sending her home. Out of the blue. He was stood in the doorway, squinting into the sunlight, a stupid smile still on his face.

He couldn't quite see for the light blaring into his eyes, but he was pretty sure Clara had smiled at him before turning to hug Angie and Artie. He turned back into the TARDIS and shut the door behind him. He'd stay here in the TARDIS for a few days, he decided, see if he could remember how to just relax at 'home'.

Angie and Artie pulled Clara excitedly inside. Angie had been baking and wanted Clara's opinion on her scones, as 'they'd gone all weird and flat'. Artie needed help with his English homework and insisted that only Clara could help him.

For a while, Clara's disappointment was buried under the pile of stuff she was made to do with the kids. She decided not even the most skilled baker could save Angie's somewhat burnt and flat scones, and set her to work with a new batch, simultaneously answering a call from her best friend, ushering Artie towards the dining room table and grabbing his homework books. Finishing her call, she attempted to instruct Artie in the beauty of _Much Ado About Nothing_, all the while answering frantic questions from the kitchen.

Once the second, much more edible batch of scones had cooled, Clara sat the kids down in front of the telly with strict instructions only to eat one each, whilst she took a much-needed break.

"But, aren't you going to take any scones to the Doctor." Angie asked, raising her eyebrows knowingly. Clara's brow creased.

"Maybe. I mean, yeah, of course." She fumbled, heading out the door. "But… I need a bath first."

Taking a bath had always been one of Clara's favourite ways to unwind. Laying back in the bubbles, however, she couldn't quite find the relaxation she usually did. Her stomach was a knot of emotions that she only just allowed herself to feel.

Embarrassment; that she'd allowed herself to think the Doctor had meant more than just chit chat when he'd called her beautiful, that she'd let herself think all the glances and blushes were because he'd felt something, maybe just a little something, underneath all of his pain, that was good, and was about her.

Anger; that he'd brought her home, without as much as a word. Why?

But she was pleased – he hadn't left, he was still there, her mad man in his box, waiting for her. So he hadn't abandoned her.

Yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everyone for your lovely lovely reviews on my little bit of drabble xD Don't be too dejected, this isn't the final chapter :D Hope you enjoy, and please continue to review - reviews are the little bit of sunshine in between the clouds of my dissertation work! (A rather poetic way of saying I love you all xD)**

**Enjoy, Reader :D L_M_D**

An hour or so later, dressed in nothing but pyjamas and a dressing gown, Clara was forced out of the house by Angie, bearing a gift of a mug of tea and a plate of scones, and pushed towards the TARDIS.

She hadn't felt so nervous since she'd had her first kiss, and that was far too long ago for her to remember the feeling with any fondness. However, the cold of the evening won out against her nerves, and she was soon enough knocking on the TARDIS door.

The Doctor took a while to answer; he'd been in the kitchen. Unsurprised to see Clara (who else would it be), he still had to try to hide his blushes at her unannounced arrival. She stepped inside, meaning only to give him the scones and tea and leave promptly. She was prevented, however, by the Doctor's incessant inane chat as he steered her towards the kitchen, saying something about having to make her a cup of tea, especially since she'd come all the way in her pyjamas.

(What he'd actually said was more along the line of "since you're in your… you know… sleep-clothes…", whilst gesturing somewhat wildly to her [rather embarrassing, she now realised] penguin themed pyjamas, blushing wildly and looking in the opposite direction.)

He seated her down on a seat, and bustled about somewhat more than necessary in making the tea, chatting away constantly. He managed to carry the conversation by himself until he sat himself down opposite Clara, with his admittedly somewhat cold tea, and a scone.

Silence, this time, did fall. And it was quite possibly the most uncomfortable one the Doctor had sat through. And he wasn't even entirely sure why. Clara was silent. She wasn't happy, even he could tell that. Despite all his best efforts, his impossible Clara was still unhappy. Which led the Doctor to one conclusion.

She wanted to leave.

She had got the bug of being at home, that wonderful feeling of being with family that the Doctor, somewhere in the depths of his hearts, could remember, and long for. He shouldn't have brought her back. He should have taken her on one last adventure, one final trip. Maybe she'd still let him, they had so many places still to visit, he was sure he could persuade her into a proper trip, to say goodbye.

He hated that word. So, so much.

The silence stretched out painfully.

Clara sniffed, trying to find a topic of conversation. Her nose wrinkled and she sniffed again.

"Doctor?" she asked, in a tone close to being her normal self. "Is there something… _burning_?"

The Doctor sniffed to test her theory, then jumped up, shouting almost incomprehensibly,

"The _soufflé_!"

He ran awkwardly over to the oven, and, amidst a cloud of smoke, retrieved the remains of a soufflé, a hilariously dejected look on his face.

He plonked it onto the table between them, and Clara couldn't hold in her laughter any more.

"Why on earth have you made a soufflé?" she giggled "Well, _tried_!"

Indignant, the Doctor pulled the ruined pudding towards him, trying to sonic some of the burnt bits off.

"I think it's quite reasonable for a first attempt…."

Clara tried to compose herself. She, too, had been a novice baker once upon a time.

"I'm sure it's not too bad… Here," she said, grabbing some plates from a sideboard, "We can give it a try…"

After attempting to eat, and subsequently spitting out, the (truly awful) soufflé, the Doctor conceded defeat.

"Okay… perhaps not my best idea."

"Why did you even make a soufflé? I've never seen you eat puddings." Clara asked, placing the dishes in the sink, happy that, for a moment at least, their conversations had returned to their normal, playful pace.

"I thought…" the Doctor paused, long enough for Clara to turn around and meet his eyes. He scratched one hand behind his neck, the awkward atmosphere returning. "I thought I'd make it… so you'd feel better… that it might cheer you up…." He saddened somewhat. "Guess I didn't do it so well…"


	5. Chapter 5

**This ending chapter is really rather fluffy, so you have been warned xD I hope you enjoy, and want to thank everyone who has read this :D Extra special thanks to all my lovely reviewers, you overwhelm me with your loveliness and I adore knowing what you think my stuff :D**

**Again, apologies for the long upload, but I just moved back to uni so have been a busy writer writing things I don't want to xD**

**Enjoy this last instalment :D**

**L_M_D**

The silence stretched on for some moments.

He was trying to cheer her up.

This concept was so alien to all Clara's thoughts that her brain struggled to process the idea.

Whilst her mind worked through all of the Doctor's looks, gestures and words of the last few weeks, the Doctor managed to work up the courage to tell her what he knew he needed to.

"Listen, Clara… I know what you want, and although I really, _really_ don't want to let you, I know I have to. So, if you want… if it's what you really want (and please, please think about it really hard before you go)… we're already here. You can just walk back to Angie and Artie and pretend nothing has happened, and by the time you wake up tomorrow morning… the TARDIS… well, me and the TARDIS… we'll be gone. And I can pop back, maybe, if you wanted, every now and again. No obligations to come with me of course… just to say hi…"

He trailed off, as he suddenly felt rather sick. His eyes stung and his throat had closed. He shut his eyes, unable to take the look of pity he knew must be headed his way, and hung his head, knowing he deserved it. He was over 1,000 years old. And he still hadn't learnt how to say goodbye.

A double heartbeat later, the Doctor found himself tackled to the floor. Clara mumbled something, but as her head was buried in his jacket, he had to ask several times before she finally extracted herself from the tweed, removed the wild hair that was now stuck to her face, and repeated, in a more audible fashion, that she was _never_ going to walk out of that door if it meant he was leaving, and that if he wanted her to leave, he was going to have to frog march her down the TARDIS hallway and throw her out onto the street himself.

On hearing her admittedly bold declaration (which was, by the way, in total contrast to the shaking mess she was inside), the Doctor scrambled into a half-sitting position, forcing Clara to sit on his lap as he possessively clasped his arms around her.

The elation he was feeling went beyond even his vocabulary. But, being the verbose and mad man that he was, he gave it a bloody good shot.

"Clara Oswald, I am never, ever going to want you to leave… I thought… I brought you here… It seemed like… you were… well, a bit sad, really, and nothing had made you happy, not even the puppies, so I thought about where I'd be happy, and I thought there was nowhere better at cheering someone up than being at home, because I'd love to go home.. and so here we are, but I was wrong. Being at home isn't where I'm happiest at all, in fact even Gallifrey would be gloomy… that is… you know… if you weren't there with me…because you're _Clara_… _the _Clara Oswald… the one and only… you're the impossible Clara Oswald…"

"But I'm not, am I?" Clara interrupted. "I'm not impossible."

The Doctor looked at her, gone out.

"When we first met, you thought I was a mystery… an enigma, and you needed to solve the mystery… But now you have. You know why you keep meeting me, you know why I appear everywhere in your life. I'm not an unknown anymore. I'm not impossible." Once again, Clara buried her head into the tweed jacket that was so familiar, so loved, so very him.

When the Doctor finally broke the silence, his voice sounded so far away, Clara wondered if he was still sat with her. A furtive look confirmed he was, but the strangled noise was so low and so quiet, she then started to think she'd imagined it.

Another eternity stretched before the Doctor had composed himself enough to speak.

"Clara… _my_ Clara… you're right. I know who you are, I know what you did. I know how many times you've saved my life, and know you're going to do it a million times more." He shifted slightly, so he could at least see the top of Clara's head. "I solved the mystery that is you. But," his voice faltered slightly, "knowing all of that, that does not make you any less impossible. Clara… if anything, solving that enigma, solving the puzzle that is Clara Oswald… that makes you even more impossible than ever before. You walked into my time stream just so you could save me… That's _huge_, Clara, and you don't even realise… Just the way you… When I'm with you Clara… I thought I'd stopped myself from feeling like that… I wasn't even sure I could anymore… I certainly knew that I shouldn't…And that's why you're impossible. Because of how I am when I'm with you. And I don't think that feeling will stop… So don't _ever _think you're not impossible, Clara Oswald. Because you are impossible, always, forever my impossible, impossible girl. And I love you."

During the Doctor's speech, Clara had slowly moved so that she faced him, staring transfixed as the dreams she'd kept quietly to herself began to unfold in front of her.

Countless nights she had lain awake in her room, both in the TARDIS and at home, thinking over the events of the day, adding romantic notions everywhere possible – if she had said this after he'd said that, then maybe he'd have… And just then, when he'd held her hand, what if he'd held it just that little bit longer… What if, when they'd outrun whatever indistinguishable monster they were running from, what if he'd grabbed her, span her around and kissed her, Hollywood style?

So many what ifs, but here he was, her Doctor, confessing, in a more bumbled and hesitant way than her what if Doctor had, but in a way that she would never change because she knew it was him, knew it was the true Doctor talking, telling her how he felt, how she'd hoped he'd felt since the Cyber Planner had implied it, telling her what she'd wished and prayed and cried for.

So she kissed him.

And everything in the universe made sense again. Her Doctor loved her, he had felt the way she had when they held hands, her nervous embarrassment was reciprocated tenfold in him. His impossible Clara was staying, she was kissing him and he (after the initial shock and blushes had worn away) was kissing her back, on the TARDIS kitchen floor, and all thanks to Angie's scones and a rather burnt soufflé.


End file.
